


sweeter than blood

by ThirstyForRed



Series: speedruning evolution [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, M/M, adult Jacques goes by Alvin, as in: Hubert is just drenched in blood, as per tradition there's at least one corpse in the background, they simply can't make out without the corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstyForRed/pseuds/ThirstyForRed
Summary: There’s a sound of the bedframe creaking while trying to accommodate to the new weight and soft rustling of covers as the overgrown katakan slips underneath them. That feels familiar and Alvin, still keeping his eyes closed, can’t, and doesn’t even try to hide the lazy smile it brings to his face.In response, Hubert licks at the seam of his lips. It’s rough, hot, and there’s entirely too much of a slightly smelling of blood saliva. That display, while sweet and lovely, immediately wakes him up. If not for the fact that they were currently in barracks on the Temple Isle, Alvin would seriously consider setting the drunk vampire on fire.
Relationships: Alvin/Hubert Rejk
Series: speedruning evolution [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055267
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	sweeter than blood

**Author's Note:**

> initially, i posted the first few paragraphs on [my blog](https://thirstyforred.tumblr.com/tagged/alvin-x-hubert), but I figured it would work nicely with prompts for the [Soavine event](https://oxenfurt-archives.tumblr.com/post/630717896714338304/elven-tradition-holds-on-saovines-eve-the-dead), so I decided to write the rest of the scene. it's still stupidly fluffy. i mean, when you forget for a second about all that blood

At this hour of the night, Jacques doesn’t even open his eyes to check what, or rather who, is sneaking their way into his bedroom. If this is the night when the Wild Hunt finally catches him, or some enemy of the Salamandra decides to eliminate him, or maybe just one of the monsters who escaped with their lives but not all limbs wishes to take its revenge - so be it. Jacques is too tired to care.

But instead of attacking his sleeping form, the intruder creeps to the bed, slowly, almost inaudibly breaths, and whispers.

_ “Alvin~” _

It’s sweet and inhuman, and so warm, and it almost feels less like a sound and more like a thought that happened to find its home in his mind.

And then there’s a sound of the bedframe creaking while trying to accommodate to the new weight and soft rustling of covers as the overgrown katakan slips underneath them. That feels familiar and Alvin, still keeping his eyes closed, he really needs that sleep, can’t, and doesn’t even try to hide the lazy smile it brings to his face.

In response, Hubert licks at the seam of his lips. It’s rough, hot, and there’s entirely too much of a slightly smelling of blood saliva. That display, while sweet and lovely, immediately wakes him up. If not for the fact that they were currently in barracks on the Temple Isle, Alvin would seriously consider setting the drunk vampire on fire.

(He wouldn’t do such a thing anyway, not anymore at least. Maybe before, when Hubert was still wary of showing any kind of affection, almost scared of it. And every move, intentionally or not, telegraphed attack and was just as dangerous as endearing. Yes, back then Alvin did set him on fire a few times.)

He finally opens his eyes to the sight of a snout smeared with blood and sharp fangs, and wet tongue, now aiming at his cheeks and chin. Two crimson eyes slowly blink at him and once again there is this almost whisper.

_ “Mine?” _

Asking for assurance, seeking permission… Alvin finds it hard to refuse - and it doesn’t happen that often that Hubert has this need to mark him. It is a nuance, but not an annoyance. So Alvin only sighs and turns on his back to give the vampire all the access he wants.

“Yours.”

That’s the answer, and this time as a response katakan projects feelings:  _ happy, appreciated, loved. Loving. _

Again, Alvin doesn’t even try to stop the smile.

Hubert with his giant claws moves the covers to the side and somehow manages to not rip them apart. He licks Alvin across the face once, twice, and then slowly, in long laps moves lower to the neck. He takes a second to press his snout to the warm pulsing veins, but that's all, there's not even a trace of razor-sharp incisors. He simply inhales, as if Alvin's smell was the sweetest aroma on the Continent.

(Alvin knows he's not the only one with the Elder Blood in his veins, with such a fascinating genetic makeup, but he likes to think that he's the only person that can have this kind of pull on the vampire. That he is in fact the most wonderful smelling creature on the Continent. It feels nice.)

Before Hubert even reaches the collarbones, Alvin is already in midway to completely unbutton his shirt. It would be a shame to lose all buttons in the bed. And the sight of his naked torso pulls a low purr of appreciation out of katakan.

There are more words mixed with feelings entering Alvin's mind. There's 'mine' repeated over and over as if Alvin could ever forget. There's also 'sweet' which he knows really means just 'tasty', but that's Hubert's way of assuring that he's not gonna get eaten. Alvin doesn't really mind being 'tasty'.

He moves his hands to the top of katakan's head, to the soft fur, now all sticky with fresh blood of Hubert's latest prey. It was way too dark for Alvin to see crimson also on horns, but he definitely could feel it under his fingers - small spots of wet, almost as if the vampire was caught by summer drizzle. He lightly touches ears, so wide and soft, and smiles widely when they flick rapidly, like in a wild animal.

But Hubert is no animal, he's so much more, it's so clear in his dark eyes and words he slips into Alvin's mind. Hubert blinks once, twice, slowly, as if they have whole eternity just for themself.

(And they have, they could, if only Alvin wished, they could move somewhere else, somewhere beyond time. Alvin could find a place only for them.)

Alvin feels kisses on his stomach, laps of smaller, but just as hot, tongue on his skin, the claws teasing at his hips turn into hands... But Hubert's eyes never change. He looks like a human, but he also isn't one. There's still blood on his face and smile on his lips, and hunger, such hunger... However, Alvin knows he won't get devoured. At least not literally.

There are some fumbling hands and stiffened laughter, and as soon as Alvin's sleeping pants are thrown somewhere in the darkness, there's a nose pressing to the place where his thigh meets with the hip. The vampire inhales once again, and sends another chain of thoughts. This time way more coherent, borderline poetic. And Alvin really wants to laugh because this is so sweet and sappy as if they were a pair of lovers bards could sing ballads about... As if Hubert didn't murder and eat someone not even an hour ago. Alvin pulls at his hair and feels they're still, not wet, but definitely moist. Smelling deeply of copper.

Hubert smiles for the last time and in one long lick moves his tongue over the femoral artery - with this intoxicating mix of hunger and lust. So near and so far from one of the veins that would directly feed the vampire with the Elder Blood. The ambrosia of immortals... But when he opens his mouth he doesn't bite and instead simply takes Alvin in, all the way down, till his nose is pressed to the human's groin.

It's so hot, and wet, and entirely too much - the hand pinning Alvin's hips to the bed, the other moving up and down his chest, reaching to the throat, leasing red marks with almost human nails... By the time Alvin is coming, he barely can contain his moans, and he's sure he pulled at least a few hairs from Hubert's head. But the katakan never stopped or even slowed down...

All this time sending his words to Alvin's mind: sweet confessions and ardent promises.

When Hubert finally moves up on the bed and Alvin can flip to the side and embrace him, there's a sated smile on his lips and softness in his eyes. His forehead and hair are still marked with blood, but it's not something Alvin worried about ever before and certainly won't start now. So he doesn't care and puts a hand on the side of his face, and kisses him, while smoothing cheekbone with his thumb.

"And you are mine," he whispers.

Hubert smiles, all fangs and darkness, blood and hunger, and says with the absolute conviction:

"Yours."


End file.
